Drunk
by Faramirlover
Summary: The story of what happens when Harry gets really really drunk. Harry's POV. Harry/?. Rated for mentions of sex and swearing.


A/N: AU. And I know Harry's birthday is in the summer holidays but I moved it because I needed it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing apart from my damn Rubik's cube which I've had for years and messed up the minute I got it and still haven't figured out how to fix which is sat on my computer table in front of me, annoying the hell out of me and distracting me from typing.

Dedication: For anyone who's lovely and reviews.

Warning: swearing and non-graphic male/male sex. If you don't like, don't read.

Word count: 1, 039

OOOOOO

Harry was drunk. Seriously drunk. Not just the sort of drunk where you think you should have stopped three pints ago and you know you shouldn't drive and you know that you're going to feel like hell tomorrow morning. No, not that drunk. He was worse than that. He was '_I should have stopped six pints, ten shots and a dozen of those blue things ago_' drunk. The sort of drunk that you know you'll be getting a hangover for a month for. The sort of drunk where you love everyone and hate small measures.

God, he hadn't been that drunk since, well, he'd only been this drunk three times before. The first had been his sixteenth birthday when Ron had decided to throw a party for him in the Room of Requirement and invited everyone in sixth year and above. And _he _had come and succeeded in making Harry so drunk that he barely remembered his own name, let alone _his_.

And there'd been his seventeenth birthday when he and Ron and Hermione had snuck out, apparated down to London and gone clubbing. And somehow _he_ had been there too, though God knows how or why, and Harry had ended up of his face again.

And the other time it had been _his_ seventeenth birthday party. Harry had got an invite, though he didn't understand the reason. He'd found out why when he'd stepped through the door into the Room of Requirement (it seemed to have become everyone's favourite birthday party spot) and had a glass of some unknown green liquid thrust into his hand. It was _him_,wearing his usual expression, one eyebrow raised, daring him to drink, a small smile curling at the edges of his lips as Harry downed it in one go.

Every time that Harry got this drunk it was like this. _He _was always there, holding out another drink, that damn expression taunting Harry, waiting until he was so off his head that he neither knew nor cared who he went home with.

And that was how it always ended. A hangover that lasted a month and a sore arse that meant he couldn't sit down right for a week. And Harry didn't know how the bloody hell _he _did it. Or why _he_ did. He only knew that the second he saw that damn hair swishing its way through a crowd towards him, he was done for. There was no way the evening could end any other way than in _his _bed. With those stupid black silk covers and the shower big enough for round five.

Harry almost laughed at how he refused to say _his _name, even in his own head. It was like he was trying to deny that their encounters ever happened. Like he'd convinced himself that if he didn't say _his _name, he could ignore his sore arse and his hangover from hell and pretend that all he'd done was go out, have a few drinks and then get back to bed without anything else happening.

Harry took a swig of the drink and watched as _he _danced with some guy, trying to remember what occasion it was for him to be this drunk. Eventually it clicked. It was _his_ birthday. With a mild stab of annoyance Harry noticed _him _wrap his hands round his dance partner's neck and the other guy's hands drop to _his _backside.

Harry half slid, half fell off his bar stool. Giving himself a moment to regain his balance he stomped across the dance floor, taking _his_ hand and pulling him away from the guy.

"We're going," Harry said.

_He _didn't complain, only shrugged apologetically at the guy before allowing Harry to pull _him_ out of the club. As soon as they were outside in the fresh air, hands grabbed Harry's shoulders and pushed him against a wall, soft lips crushed against his own.

Harry couldn't help but moan into the kiss and run his hands through _his_ silky soft hair. His kiss was intoxicating and made Harry's already drink clouded brain turn to mush.

A crack noise and a squeezing sensation made Harry realise they were apparating. Harry cracked open the eyes that he hadn't realised he had closed and looked around. Dammit! Those bloody black silk sheets. Every time! Did _he _not own any others?

Harry's internal rant was cut off as lips attacked his neck and he moaned again, not noticing he was being backed towards the bed until his legs hit the edge and his knees buckled, making him fall backwards onto the soft silk. He was allowed a few seconds respite before nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt

OOOOOO

The light blinded Harry the moment he woke up and he groaned, flinging an arm over his eyes, trying to shield himself from the sun which was beaming through the open curtains. A small chuckle from the opposite side of the room made him sit up and glare in _his _direction.

"Sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected when I can't sleep on my arse."

His comment was met with another chuckle.

"It's not my fault. If I remember rightly, _you_ dragged _me_ out of that club. And its not like I forced you to have sex with me," Harry winced at his terminology "I have never forced you."

"You get me drunk every time!"

"You never resist. Face it, Harry, you want me."

"I don't. It's a stupid accident," Harry realised he was trying to convince himself more than _him_.

"An accident that has happened far too many times for you to be truly unhappy about it," came the calm reply.

"Shut up."

"No. I'm sick of this."

"Then leave me alone," Harry barely stopped himself from shouting.

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm sick of it only ever being sex. I want you. I want all of you."

"What are you saying?" Harry was horrified to find his voice was breathy and filled with hope.

"I'm saying that I love you, Harry Potter. And I want more than bloody birthday shags. I want-"

Harry was out of the bed and in _his _arms before another word could be spoken.

"I love you too, Draco Malfoy."

OOOOOO

A/N: Eek. Corny ending. But I couldn't help it. And I know you all knew it was Draco right from that start but I had to at least pretend that it was a secret, didn't I? Tell me what you think?


End file.
